Some People Have it Worse
by Midna Azusa
Summary: Mai's been moved from one foster home to the next, and she's sick of it. She doesn't think her life could be much worse. When she meets a little boy living in her new foster family's apartment building, she learns an important lesson, though: In life, it can always be worse.


**A/N: It's been awhile since I've written anything for Yugioh, so here's a little one-shot with Jonouchi and Mai! Enjoy! I don't own Yugioh.**

* * *

As I walked down the hall, heading to check out the neighborhood of my new temporary home, I couldn't help but think that I'd been stuck in a dump or something. Why did the hallway reek of alcohol?

I had pulled my wavy blond hair into a ponytail. My skirt was a bit short, and the fact that I saw some creepy guy looking at me through the open door of his apartment made me rethink my wardrobe decision suddenly. How on earth had these people been able to become my foster parents, anyway? What kind of sick joke was this? There was no way this place was safe! I hadn't even seen any other kids close to my age.

A door opened a few feet down the hall. There was the sound of glass breaking, someone yelling, and a blond boy came running out, slamming the door behind him and pressing his back to it.

Spoke too soon, I guess. This kid was younger than me by maybe six or seven years. He looked about seven or eight. His gray T-shirt was baggy, and his faded blue jeans were pretty ratty, with holes in the knees. They looked ready to fall apart any day now. His head was down, he was breathing pretty fast.

Well, I didn't have anything better to do, so I figured I might as well check and see if he needed help or something. Probably whoever was in that apartment was drunk or high, one or the other. I walked over to the kid.

"Hey, are you alright?" I asked, my tone flat—I didn't want him thinking I cared or anything. It wasn't like I'd be here long enough to get to know him.

He started, then looked up at me with wide brown eyes. There was a bruise forming on his left cheek.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'm fine."

I raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"

He glanced at the door behind him, then looked back at me and asked, "How much did you see? You didn't hear anything, did you?"

I shrugged. "Only some glass breaking and somebody yelling. Why?"

"Crap," the boy muttered. "Just forget you ever saw me, alright!?"

Now _that_ was a surprise! Normally I wouldn't worry about someone else's problems, but there was something about this whole situation that had me worried. I don't know if it was the smell of alcohol in the hall, the bruise on his face, or the apparent violence going on inside that seemed to have been directed at him. Maybe it was the fact that he wanted me to forget I'd seen him. Point is, I couldn't listen to him.

"Sorry, kid, I've got a better memory than that," I answered.

"Damn it, just get lost already!" he yelled, using a bit more profanity than I was used to with twerps. "This isn't any place you should be, anyway! What the hell are ya doing here!?"

"I live here."

He blinked. "You? But..."

"But what? Is there some law that says I can't be here?"

He shook his head, then looked at me for a moment, taking in my short purple skirt, my tight white tube top, and the purple jacket I had casually thrown on over top of it.

"You're new, aren't you?" he asked finally.

"Gee, how'd you guess?" I asked him sarcastically.

He looked irritated. "Hey, it was just a question! Sheesh! See if I ever try to help _you_ again!"

"Help me?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "How is asking if I'm new 'helping' me?"

"'Cause, if you're new, there are some things you should know about this place."

"Okay," I said, crossing my arms.

He held up a finger. "First, don't ever dress like that around here! There are a lot of guys who'd love to get a crack at that body of yours."

His knowledge of that subject shocked me. What, had his mom been raped or something? How could such a little boy know that? And, now that I thought about it, why didn't he seem much like a normal little boy who thought girls had cooties or something?

"Second," he said, holding up another finger. "Don't spend too much time in the halls." He looked around, realizing he was breaking his own rule, then added, "We should go someplace else."

I don't know what possessed me to do it, but I offered, "You can come back to my place, if you want."

He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before nodding. I led the way back down the hall to my new foster parents' apartment and let him in.

"You hungry?" I asked, heading to the kitchen.

The kid's eyes lit up. "Starved!" he answered, running into the kitchen after me. "What have you got?"

I wasn't sure if his enthusiasm was cute or just annoying. I looked through the cupboard, trying to find something he'd like. He stood next to me on his tiptoes, trying to get a better look in the cupboard. There wasn't much there, so I moved to the fridge. That's when I saw the note on the counter:

"Gone shopping. Be back soon. Aika."

Well. That explained why there wasn't any food around.

"Looks like my foster parents are out grocery shopping," I told the kid.

"Foster parents?" he asked.

"My parents are dead," I said casually. "So I keep getting dumped in a bunch of different foster homes."

He looked at me and asked seriously, "Are the people you end up with nice?"

Startled, I looked at him. "What?"

"Are they nice?" he repeated.

I looked at him for a moment before deciding that he was serious. "Aika and Hiroshi are nice enough, I suppose. For now."

"What do you mean, 'for now?'"

"I'm not gonna be here long, kid. They'll send me away eventually, just like all the others."

He looked at me seriously and asked, "Is it because they don't like you?"

"I don't know why! I just know that this place isn't my home, and these people don't care about me!"

"Then how come they're letting you live with them?"

I crossed my arms. "They probably get paid for it."

He looked down. "Oh... So parents need money before they care about their kids?"

I blinked, startled again. "What?" I asked quietly, my voice barely audible.

Still staring at the floor, he asked, "You think my mom would come back if I said I'd pay her?"

I blinked at him again. "Sorry, come again?"

He looked at me and said, "My mom left me and my dad a couple months ago. She took my sister, Shizuka, with her, but she didn't want me. If I paid her, would she come back?"

That story nearly ripped my heart out. Sure, my life sucked, but at least I knew that my parents had cared about me. It's not like they died on purpose, just so they wouldn't have to deal with me. Yet this kid's mom had up and left him, making things worse for him by taking his sister and leaving him thinking she just didn't care about him.

"I don't know, kid. I don't think so. But I'm sure it's not because she doesn't care about you. She probably just thought it would be fair to your dad to leave you with him."

He lowered his gaze again. "But Dad doesn't do anything 'cept drink..."

It just got worse—and here I'd been thinking that wasn't possible.

"What's your name?" I asked, steering the conversation away from there—and getting his name for future reference, just on the off chance the cops actually cared.

"Jonouchi," he said. "Katsuya Jonouchi."

"I'm Mai," I told him. "Nice to meet you, Jonouchi."

I heard the apartment door open, then Aika's voice called, "Mai! We're home!"

She walked into the kitchen, bags of groceries in her arms, and set them down on the counter. Hiroshi followed her lead.

I straightened up and said, "Hey. I brought a friend over." I pointed at Jonouchi, who looked slightly startled at the term.

Aika took one look at him and said, "Well, Katsuya. It's nice to see you."

Hiroshi teased, "Well, interested in girls now, are we? And older ones, at that."

Jonouchi blushed. "Th-that's not even close, Hiroshi!"

My foster parents laughed, and I couldn't help but join in. Jonouchi pouted, crossing his arms.

"Well, I'm sure you're hungry. You always are, aren't you?" Aika asked him as she reached into one of the grocery bags.

She pulled out a cake with chocolate frosting, and Jonouchi's mouth watered. Aika laughed again.

"Hiroshi, get me a knife, would you?"

Hiroshi nodded and grabbed a knife. I reached into the cupboard behind me and grabbed a couple of plates, a sign that I wanted some, too. I handed them to Aika, who smiled and said, "Might as well get a plate for Hiroshi and myself while you're at it, Mai, dear."

* * *

Sheesh, could that kid eat! He inhaled his first piece of cake before asking if he could have another, his face covered in chocolate frosting, crumbs from the marble cake clinging to it and sticking to his face as well. I swear, I thought he was gonna choke if he wasn't careful.

Later, he and I sat in the living room watching cartoons. I'd let him pick the channel, seeing as I didn't really think he'd want to watch anything I liked. I wasn't really paying attention to the TV, more of my attention was focused on him, watching him. He was acting just like any little kid ever since my foster parents had gotten home. The serious conversation we'd been having had been abandoned, and he seemed so carefree now, so hyperactive, just like any boy his age.

The commercials came on, and he looked at me.

"So, you live with Hiroshi and Aika, huh?" he asked.

"Yeah, kid. Where've you been?" I teased him. Really, I'd said their names earlier, and he'd just eaten cake with them both.

He glared at me and said, "Hey, cut it out, would ya!? That attitude's really getting on my nerves!"

I smiled; he was too young for his anger to be anything but cute. This seemed to annoy him more, which only amused me more.

"Yeah, well, Aika and Hiroshi are great. You don't have to worry about them not caring," he continued, turning away from me, his eyes closed in irritation.

I resisted the urge to laugh and instead asked, "Really? And how long have you known them?"

"Aika and my mom are friends," he answered. "Or they were. I don't think they are now. I was over here a couple days after she left, and Aika was on the phone with my mom. She sounded really mad. She kept yelling at her about 'abandoning her responsibility' and how 'neither of them should be stuck with that man.' I'm pretty sure it was me they were talking about."

"Really?" I asked, my interest piqued. Clearly, Aika knew something about this kid's situation. Maybe I could ask her for details later.

"Uh-huh. Aika hung up, pretty mad. I don't think she's talked to my mom since."

I didn't know what to say to that, but it was obvious the kid was trying to tell me that Aika wasn't about to send me away unless she thought it was for my own good. If I was being honest with myself, I'd have admitted that my foster parents weren't the ones who were guilty of moving me around all the time, though I didn't really pay a lot of attention other than to know that I was never placed in a permanent home.

* * *

Jonouchi headed home soon after that. My curiosity got the better of me, so I sought Aika out to ask her some questions. I found her in the kitchen, preparing dinner.

"Want some help with that?" I asked, seizing the excuse to talk to her.

Aika jumped, startled. "Mai." She smiled at me. "Alright," she said. "Grab a knife and start chopping up those carrots, would you?"

I did as she said, saying, "So, Jonouchi said you're friends with his mom."

"Did he now?" she said, her tone airy.

"Aika, what's going on with that kid? I know his mom ran off and ditched him, and he said something about his dad always drinking. There was a bruise on his cheek, so I'm a bit worried."

She looked at me, then turned back to what she was doing—peeling potatoes. "Well, I can't say for sure, but I think his father beats him."

I had been afraid of that.

"Has anyone thought to do anything about it?"

"His mother should have," she said bitterly. "Jonouchi denies it every time I ask. Protects his father. He cares about that man, even though the deadbeat doesn't deserve it."

I was feeling sorry for those potatoes—Aika was skinning them ferociously in her anger. I figured I'd let the subject drop. I'd gotten the answers I wanted, anyway. I'd talk to Jonouchi about it later.

* * *

I kept stopping by Jonouchi's apartment every day for the rest of the time I was with Aika and Hiroshi, but he was never there. The next time I saw him was a few weeks later, when my social worker came to take me to a new foster home.

We had reached the street when I saw the familiar blond hair of that little shrimp from my first day here. I cast him a glare as I passed, daring him to say I was wrong about my situation. Though my glare didn't hold long—it turned to shock at the sight of him.

He had a black eye, his right hand was bandaged, and there were tears streaming down his cheeks—though, being a boy, he was trying to hide them. To this day, I don't know if the tears were because of something his father had done...or because he didn't want to see me leave.

As I slid into the front seat of my social worker's car, I couldn't help but feel guilty. Here I was complaining about always getting moved from one place to another, hating my social worker because he seemed determined to stick me in every foster home within a hundred mile radius before I hit eighteen, and Jonouchi lived with an abusive drunk and actually defended the guy! He cared about his father, even though his father didn't seem to care about him at all. What was I complaining about? I had people who cared about me, even if they didn't care enough to keep me—Aika and Hiroshi had told me to make sure to call them, as if I were going to summer camp or some boarding school and not a new family. Jonouchi didn't even have that.

I guess it's true what they say—no matter how bad you think you've got it, there's always someone out there who's got it worse.


End file.
